by Connie Ward
Ginger leaned aside, just beyond reach of those hag's claws. I felt the weight of the look he passed me, but I couldn't meet it, too saddened and ashamed for poor old Grezalia.
At last we reached the cell at the very end, in near darkness. There was movement, a rustle of straw from the deepest shadows. A voice hoarse but defiant coughed out, “Why don't you tell Valleri to come down here and take me out himself instead of sending in his jackals?"
Though Ginger held out an arm before me, I approached the bars, making sure I stood in the light so the prisoner could see me, and drew off my helm. “Arial. Friend. It's me. Kathedra. I mean you no harm. We've come to free you."
"Highness? Is it really ... you?” Slow, uncertain footsteps moved through the straw towards the bars into the weak orange light of the torch, and I saw him for the first time. His auburn, silver-shot hair hung lank and dirty almost to his chest. Thick rust-coloured stubble obliterated his jaw. His soldier's tunic was crushed, tattered, soiled with blood and sweat, the crest of the Gryphon hanging by a thread. A badly healed cut decorated one cheek. His left eye was swollen nearly shut, and he held himself stiffly as if in pain. He looked as if he'd crawled his way out of hell's innermost pit.
"Yes, it's me. I must say, you look worse than you did at the battle of Storn.” The Arial I had known then would have laughed at that, for he and his Eighth had been badly mauled there. But this version of the captain merely continued to stare at me as if he saw a ghost.
"Come closer,” I entreated.
He obeyed, reached a grimy hand through the bars to touch my tunic, his fingers crawling up to my chin, then to the strands of my hair, long enough now to graze my shoulders. Beside me, I heard Ginger's indrawn breath at this liberty. “But you are dead,” Arial whispered. “I saw your body, saw it draped over your horse when Averi led it through the gates, saw Bertrand fall prostrate with grief over it."
I swallowed hard, gripped his wrist, my throat so clogged with emotion I could barely speak. “No, Arial. Averi substituted a body double. It was all a plan of Valleri's gone horribly wrong.” I searched his sea-green eyes, plumbing their depths for understanding. “Arial, believe me. I ordered none of this."
Recognition, or perhaps it was sanity, blossomed then. He withdrew his hand as if burnt, and flung himself to his knees before me in the filthy straw. “General, sir. If I may say so, you are a sight for sore eyes."
"Don't call me that. I'm just Kathedra now.” I reached through the bars to take his arm. “Please, get up. You know we have come too far together for that. How long have you been down here?"
He managed a shrug, glancing around the walls of his prison as if he sought insight in their dank stone. “Weeks. Months. I've lost track. When I first fell out of favour with Valleri, Tock warned me to leave while I could, but I lingered. By the time I realized the danger the sentries at the gate had orders to detain me. I was spotted and a gang of Averi's thugs harried me through the keep. I couldn't fight them all ... so I ended up here."
"Well, you'll be happy to know Averi's had a falling out of his own with Val. Also, Serasteffan's taken your command."
"I know. The bastard comes down here now and again to taunt me with it.” He flicked a glance at Ginger, fitting keys into the lock at random. “Don't tell me you're running with mercs now? You're about as hard up for friends as I am."
"Not mercs, but friends, yes,” I replied. “I'll explain later."
The mechanism clicked, and Ginger swung open the door on a squeal of hinges. Arial stepped through it with an air of disbelief, fearful perhaps it might close back in on him. The mage pocketed the keys, said, “Look, if we're going to do this I have to get started. Will you be all right?” He didn't trust Arial. He didn't trust any Royalist.
I nodded. “Go ahead. Let me know when you're ready.” Then I grabbed his arm, squeezing it hard. “Look. Are you sure you want to do this? If something goes wrong and Owyn's spell doesn't work, you'll have every Shouda in the place on top of you."
"Yes, I'm sure, Kathedra. There's really little other choice.” He left me with the captain and crossed the chamber to the larger holding cells, where he stepped within to set about preparations for the relocation of a teleportal.
"Do you think you can fight, Arial? I really need you able to fight."
The glare he threw me weakened my knees. “You know me better than that, Kathedra.” In truth I did. Actually we knew each other better than most people thought we should. But that was a time long ago, before Val, when I was young and frightened, overwhelmed with relief that I had survived my first battle, and filled with too much ale from the celebration that followed. Arial, a lieutenant then, had suffered a broken arm in addition to a blow from a mace that had ripped the iron-winged helm from his head. Ale and head injuries don't usually combine to make good sense.
"Well, you should at least have something to eat.” I bade him sit at the table that his jailors had vacated, still loaded with platters of food, some of it untouched. I tossed him a roll of dark bread, pulled the leg off a roasted chicken and placed it before him with a dish of stew. “Eat,” I commanded, pouring wine from a flagon into a tin cup.
Arial dived into the fare with abandon. I allowed him his meal in peace while I took plates of food to Lesuperis and Grezalia, shoving them between the bars, a lame attempt to assuage my guilt. I checked in with Saxton, who gave me the all clear sign, then returned to the table, leaving the mage undisturbed.
"Can you tell me what's been going on in my absence?"
"Some. I'm not sure of a lot of it myself.” Arial tore into a piece of chicken, crunching through gristle and skin, swallowing it all with a mouthful of wine. “When Averi returned, bearing evidence of your death, a kind of shock settled in. It wasn't until Bertrand named Valleri his heir that things began to get, well, scary. Lesuperis was still here, mooning for his lost bride, or more accurately, his lost tie to the throne. Apparently, he thought his spoonful of royal blood granted him the title of heir. He confronted Valleri, and a fierce argument erupted right there in Bertrand's throne room. All the officers in the castle at that time witnessed it. Lesuperis accused Valleri of vile things, like treason and murder. But Val took it all, I'll give him that much. If it were me, I'd have strangled the young fool on the spot."
I could well imagine the scene he'd described: Lesuperis ranting and raving in his nasal whine, clad in his peacock finery as he strutted circles around the victim of his tirade, and Valleri, so cool, so poised, taking it all with nary a word as he had done from so many others who thought him unworthy of common decency, too smart to be baited into a brawl, too proud to lose his temper. Maybe, finally, he just snapped. There's only so much cruelty, so much harassment, one can endure, until one is reduced to the same level as his tormentors.
"The title of Gryphon Highlord, as you know, gave Valleri newfound power, power to retaliate. He threw Lesuperis in the dungeon, along with your servant woman. Next he ordered all the Shouda released, determined to rid the countryside of Umagi rebels. He perceives threats everywhere, which is how I ended up here and why Roche is napping with the worms. He shows no mercy, no restraint."
"What about Uncle?"
Arial drained his cup, then set it aside to fix me in his level gaze. “In light of everything that's happened you might find this hard to believe, but Bertrand cares about you. Your death did something to him, struck him senseless and impotent. More and more he lost the nerve to defend himself against Valleri. His grief paralysed him, prevented him from taking action to end Val's reign of terror. Not all that long ago I heard the guards talking. The gossip was that Valleri had murdered you, making it look first to be the work of the Crusaders, then the Regent. I didn't want to believe him capable of such a crime. I didn't think he could ... I mean, it was no secret that the two of you often shared a bed."
Stifling a burst of hysterical laughter I hung my head, unable to comprehend my own naiveté. For the sake of my shredded dignity, was there anyone who didn't k
now? But wasn't that Uncle's twisted plot from the beginning? To incite rumour and innuendo in order to discredit me? My romance with Val had never been anything more than a contrivance. I was the only one to be deceived.
I felt Arial's assessing stare, then his fingers on my chin as he tipped it, forcing me to meet his eyes. “Kathedra, I know how painful this must be for you. But the Valleri you loved is gone."
Painful? Try agony. These were not easy things to hear. Not Valleri's descent into depravity, or the reality of my shattered illusion.
He let his hand fall, and a rueful smile skipped across his lips. Pushing away his empty bowl, he crooked his head in Ginger's direction. “What's he doing?"
So cued I filled him in on recent events, including my escapades in Idyll, pushing Arial's Royalist sensibilities to the limits. In his opinion I was perhaps one step behind Valleri on the gangway leading to the ship named Traitor.
"Let me get this perfectly clear,” he said, his glance, gone dark and sullen, falling somewhere around my shoulders. “Am I helping you to rescue Bertrand or am I helping you to usurp him?"
"The throne belongs to me, Arial. You know that. Uncle simply refuses to give it up. He had no right to do what he did to the Umagi, to me. I don't know what Val's motives are but they aren't mine. You want your command back, don't you? Or will you leave it to that weakling Serasteffan?"
"You damned well know I want it back.” There was no hesitation in his reply, no hint of the uncertainty I was looking for, which, if I'd found, would have led Arial right back to his cell. “I am yours to command, if you'll have me."
"I will."
I rose, withdrawing the extra uniform I'd stuffed under my tabard to lend me more breadth. “Here. This is for you."
Arial fondled the fabric of the tunic and surcoat, his eyes narrowing as they drank in the colours and insignia of Saxton's mercs. He had even less regard for mercenaries than I. A kettle steamed over the fire in the hearth, normally reserved for heating pokers and other instruments of torture, useful now to boil water for Urharde's tea. I filled a bucket and carried it back to the table, where Arial had already begun to strip. I winced at the weals on his wrists, wrought there by chains, my mouth going dry at the whip marks scored into the flesh of his back. His torso was one massive bruise, and he did not bend too low as he scooped water into his cupped hands.
"By the hand of the Fates,” I cursed softly. “Arial, your arm, your sword arm. It looks—"
"It's fine. It was dislocated, but I put it back myself.” He dunked his head in the bucket, pulled it out with a gasp, whether from the shock or the protest of mistreated ribs. He slicked away his hair with a hand, letting water trickle down his chin. “Don't worry, Kathedra. I can do what you ask."
Perhaps I asked too much. I left him then to his privacy, though modesty hardly mattered to a soldier. His wounds begged attention; I refrained, knowing he would not accept what might seem like pity from me. Instead I joined Saxton by the door, where he was getting antsy. Things were too quiet, he said.
"How long before Ginger's ready?” I asked.
"I don't know. But he's warned me its imperative that he's not interrupted until the spell is complete or it could mean disaster for everyone within a ten mile radius."
He'd barely finished his sentence when I heard it, a thrumming sound, emanating from the very walls. Not really a sound, but a vibration. Like a ripple on still water. For an instant, it felt as if the castle itself shifted, and I reached out to steady myself. The stone hummed beneath my palm, the sensation reverberating all through me. I sniffed the air, but caught no whiff of magical residue, no scent other than the acrid smoke of torches. When I glanced towards the cells it seemed as if I saw Arial and Ginger through a cheap pane of glass.
In the space of an eye blink the moment passed, and all was again as it was before.
I squeezed Saxton's shoulder. He seemed unaffected by the occurrence. Maybe I only observed the advent of the teleportal because I was Umagi. A fissure of alarm snaked through me. What if Valleri had noticed its arrival, too?
Ginger locked the gate to the holding cells with a key from the sergeant's ring then approached me, looking even worse than Arial. Gaunt. Drawn. Weary beyond all care. “Are you sure—?"
"I'm fine. It's just I've never summoned such a wealth of energy before. It took three of us to raise the teleportal in Idyll. I've borrowed the power from the small one we left behind. I hope Naren's through it already. If not, he's coming the long way around. But its very unstable, Kathedra. And it's only temporary. This amount of energy was never meant to be confined under the weight of so much crushing stone. The rock won't let it breathe or settle, not like the barn. Its walls were wood and its roof thatch; it could expand and contract. Magic is a living entity. It hates confinement and will search for a way to escape. You know that as well as anyone. I just don't have the reserves to anchor it properly."
He jerked his head in Arial's direction. “What about the captain back there? Are you sure of him?"
"Sure enough."
"Really? As sure as you were about Valleri?"
"What are you saying?"
"Only that it's a dangerous game you play with men's hearts. There is something between you and Arial."
"That's in the past.” A past so far away that it seemed to belong to someone else.
"Make sure it stays there."
He allowed me no time for a rebuttal, snapping, “I have to go open the nether end of the teleportal. Remember, as the decoy you must time it precisely if you don't want to trap yourself. It's one way only. You don't need a passkey because I'll activate it myself. We'll have to hurry. I can't predict how long it will stay open, but it should deactivate once the tunnel door is closed. Meet me at the granaries as soon as the captain's ready."
"Can you find the tunnel on your own? It's a labyrinth in there. About fifty feet in, the passageway forks. Go right, not left. If you go left you'll end up in the crypts, or maybe the library. Damn, I can't remember which. Anyway, at the next intersection you'll see steps. Up leads to my tower, and down takes you to the dungeons. Saxton could show you."
"I'll manage,” he said, interrupting my babble. He took my hands, squeezed them tight to stop their trembling. “I saw the maps Sestus had at Idyll. I'll be fine."
He left me with a kiss that told me he would not tolerate rivals, and the memory of his grin.
I went to collect Arial before Saxton hyperventilated. He had cleaned up nicely, his damp hair tied back with a leather thong, a smell about him of wine and vengeance. “Captain, let's go."
"I'm ready.” He buckled on his sword belt, and went to a chest built into a corner of the hearth where the dungeon-masters kept a secret stash of weapons for emergency. Withdrawing two blades, he tossed me one, and cut a few awkward slashes into the air with the second.
"Do you want to spar first?"
"No.” He slung the blade, gulped down the rest of his wine, and gestured to the door. “I heard your friend. There's no time. Really, I'm all right."
As he moved to go by me I stopped him with a light touch. “Captain, forgive me, but I have to ask. Why would you choose someone like Stef for your second? Surely, you knew what he was."
The look he gave me said that he could ask me the very same question. “Serasteffan wasn't always the monster he is today. I watched him over the years. He was shrewd. Fearless. Ambitious. All traits that can turn a man dangerous and vile when temptation is put in his path. The newly acquired power I gave him changed Stef for the worse. That's all the explanation I have.” He crooked his head at Saxton. “We should go."
I went ahead of him, but before we reached the door he took my elbow, turning me so I met his level gaze. “The mage. He's pretty heavy duty, eh?"
He did not refer solely to Ginger's calibre of wizardry. “Yeah, Arial. Does that change anything?"
One shoulder lifted in the suggestion of a shrug, and his wry grin appeared, the one that had so easily charmed me i
nto his tent that night near Storn. “Just the plans for my victory celebration."
A surprise awaited us as we stepped three abreast onto a second level corridor leading topside. I caught a glimpse of the intruder's face in the torchlight as he leapt from the landing, shoving Saxton headfirst into a wall before an arm curled around my waist and a hand clamped over my mouth. It was all done with a speed and efficiency that defied comprehension. The man spun me around to face Arial, who'd stopped dead in the passageway, struck with horror.
The captain raised his hands, palms open. In a calm and steady voice, he told my attacker, “Easy there, now. Don't do anything rash."
The man held me carefully, exerting just enough pressure to restrain not hurt, although in the past he had been anything but gentle with me. Into my ear, he murmured, “Don't make a sound, highness. Give me a chance to explain."
I had not the slightest inclination to scream. Not when we were so close to the compound that my shout would bring every Royalist in the castle at a gallop. I nodded behind his hand, whispered his name against his cold, grimy fingers.
Arial took a tentative step towards me. “Averi, let her go. If you think we—"
"Back off, captain."
I gave Arial a look, tried to impart a warning. Catching my intent, he retreated and crouched beside Saxton lying crumpled on the floor, prepared to shield him if necessary.
"Highness, I just want—” Averi began, but I didn't let him finish. I had spent many a sleepless night in Idyll plotting my punishment for this bastard, for his dogs. Most of my plans were involved and complicated, lasting days or weeks. And I simply didn't have that kind of time.
